As soon as I hit the water, my lungs fight for air. My body goes under, and it's not until I'm fully submerged that I open my eyes and see darkness. It's peaceful beneath the surface – the same kind of peace that I find in Blake's basement. It doesn't matter that it's cold or dark or I'm entirely alone: I feel safe.

I'm under for what can only be seconds but feels like minutes. Kicking my legs, I propel myself to the water's surface and take in a lungful of air. Above me is shouting, so I tilt my head back, watching as a blurry Blake is seconds from diving in after me. He suddenly spots me, his expression distorted through the water in my eyes, but if I didn't know better, I'd think he was worried.

"Get up here, Matthews," he shouts down at me.

I smile despite the fact I am freezing and swim toward the bank. Freddie floats beside me, breathless, and says, "You were under there for so long that I'd thought you drowned. Blake was about to come down here and kill me."

"I thought he was coming down here to rescue me."

Freddie smiles. "That too."

Blake greets me in record time and peels off his jacket before wrapping it around me. I'm shivering like a leaf but smiling harder than I have in a long time. When I finally push the hair from my face to look at him, he's staring at me in a way that I like.

"You," he says, "are insane."

My heart jumps when I think back to his comment about spontaneity. Jumping off the bridge isn't exactly living life on the edge, but it's something the old Rose would never have done, and that's what feels so good about it. From the way Blake looked at me, he's thinking it too.

As soon as Freddie gets to the bank, I pull on my jeans, and we walk the few blocks back to Blake's house. When the heavens decide I'm not quite cold enough, it rains. As Blake and I run the last few blocks to his house, the others break off to head to their houses.

We finally reach Blake's, and I've never been so glad to get to his basement. He opens the door, stepping aside to let me in before closing it behind us. "You're freezing," he says, looking over. "Was it worth it?"

I laugh through my chattering teeth. "Definitely."

He steps closer, flicking the light switch to his left, but nothing happens. He turns to face me, but seeing his expression in the dark is hard.

"Is there a powercut?" I ask.

"No, I haven't paid the electricity bill either." He pushes a strand of damp hair from my face as I drip all over the floor. "There are some towels in the bathroom if you want to dry off. I'd tell you to take a shower to warm up, but the water isn't working. "You want a t-shirt to change into?"

I hesitate. "Okay."

He heads upstairs and returns several moments later, holding a dark gray t-shirt. "That's my favorite Led Zeppelin t-shirt," he says, handing it over. "Don't ruin it."

My heart pounds. Something about him letting me wear his favorite t-shirt gives me hope that maybe Freddie is right. I go to the bathroom to dry off before picking up his t-shirt. As soon as I slip it on, I shiver. It's warm and fresh and smells like his washing detergent; I don't ever want to take it off. I'm about to put my jeans back on, but the rain soaked them through. Hesitant, I turn to the mirror, check that his t-shirt covers my butt, and set down the jeans before heading to the basement.

I'm halfway down the stairs when I see Blake standing with his back turned to me, shirtless. He turns around, t-shirt in his hand, and catches me watching. Moonlight spills in through the curtains and reflects off his hard, tattooed torso.

I swallow hard, knowing I should probably turn and let him finish changing, but my feet stay frozen to the spot. I'm glad the power isn't working – my cheeks must be rhubarb red. "Sorry," I say, glancing at the wall, "I didn't realize–"

My sentence trails off as he pulls on his plain black t-shirt. The tattoos I'm desperate to see disappear as I move down a step, sliding my hand down the railing. Just as they had at the bridge, his eyes briefly fall to my thighs.

"My jeans were wet," I say as he crosses the room. "I'm waiting for them to dry."

He doesn't say anything as he walks up the few steps to meet me. I feel my breath hitch; something has changed, and I can't put my finger on what, but I know he feels it too.

Slowly, his mouth tilts. "You look good in my t-shirt."

"Is that my first compliment?"

His voice comes low and heavy in my ear. "And last."

I pull him closer by his neck and kiss him. For once, the idea of next week doesn't worry me. Whatever happens with the campaign, whether I win or lose, I'm glad I got to spend this time with Blake.

My arms drop from his shoulders to his waist. The basement is cold, but I barely feel it as he pushes me against the stairs wall. His mouth finds my neck while his hand slides up my thigh, bunching my t-shirt.

Between the kisses and touches, every good thing he ever did rushes back: him tearing down that poster on my locker, punching Chase, and how he stuck by me through that embarrassing debate. He wasn't just my campaign captain but my friend, and it's taken until now to realize it.

I pull back, my heart pounding as it truly hits me. A surge of something I thought I'd only ever feel for Chase. Somehow, despite the impossibility of it all, one thing has become abundantly clear. It's not just physical.

I like him.

I almost want to blurt it out, but common sense dictates that despite what Freddie says, doing anything before the ballot is a risky endeavor.

"What's wrong?" Blake asks.

"Nothing," I say and kiss him again, but I'm lying. The truth is, I'm terrified; this time next week, he'll know how I feel, and I'll know how he does too.

We kiss for a little while longer. When things start to verge on going too far, I force myself back. His lips are red, the front of his sweatpants still taut with fervor, but his eyes, which were hooded and smoky a moment ago, have softened. He sighs like he'd known this was coming and says, "Find something else for us to do, Matthews. Before you drive me insane."

I lead him back to the sofa, picking up the remote before remembering the tv has no power. I put it down and half-turn to face him, acutely aware that there is nothing to do but sit and talk. The only problem is, what do we have to talk about?

"We could play the truth serum game," I say, which I just made up. "Each person has to answer a question, and if they refuse to tell the truth, they have to drink."

He gives me this look like he can't think of anything worse. "If you're hellbent on circle time, I'm going to need to smoke," he warns.

I smile because I'm just glad he agreed to this. "I don't mind."

As he's rolling a joint, I head to the fridge and pull out two warm beers before sitting back down. When he's ready, I pop the lid of one of them and set it on the table. "Okay," I say, thinking for a moment. "What's your favorite flower?"

Blake lifts his beer to drink.

I swat his arm. "Seriously? It's the first question."

He catches my hand before it knocks his beer. "Matthews," he says in disbelief, "I don't have a favorite flower."

"Just tell me one you like then. It's supposed to be an easy question."

He sighs like this is insane. "Fine, Evening Primrose."

I scrunch up my nose. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Reminds me of you."

It's the first time in my life someone has compared me to anything other than a rose. I don't ask why, I doubt he'll be forthcoming, but I make a mental note to research it as soon as I get home. "Your turn," I say.

He takes a drag of his joint and says, "What's it like having the Mayor as your mom?"

I think about drinking, but the truth is, I want to talk about my life with Blake, even if it's hard. "It's difficult – my parents have high expectations of me. Like, really high. Plus, her job is so public it feels like everything I do will be scrutinized."

Blake looks up briefly. "That explains a lot."

I look at my hands, relieved that it's dark enough he won't see me blush. "Where's your brother?"

His eyes harden as he reaches for his beer and swigs. I sit back, disappointed. I'd known it was a question he'd try to avoid, but I'd hoped he would open up anyway.

Even though it goes against the rules of this made-up game, I say, "I know he's not on vacation, Blake. When is he coming back?"

"What are you, a detective?"

"Blake."

"Fine," he says, "he's not. Is that what you want to hear, Matthews?"

"I knew it."

"Congratulations, you've been promoted to lead investigator."

I fall silent again, pulling my knees to my chest. Blake's iciness is almost as cold as this basement, making me shiver. I think about giving up on this game and making my way home, but my body betrays me.

"He lives outside of town with his girlfriend," he says finally. "Didn't want the responsibility of babysitting his brother." His eyes meet mine and instantly roll. "Don't look at me like that, princess. It's an arrangement we both decided. He takes calls from the principal and signs his name on the dotted line, and I take care of myself. Always have."

My chest tightens as it dawns on me just how different our lives are. I might resent my parents sometimes, but at least they're around. They care. I can't imagine one of them suddenly deciding they didn't want to love me anymore.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Why? I get to do what I want when I want. Kids would kill to be in my position." He says it so casually through clouds of his smoke that I almost believe him. "What's your favorite holiday?"

"Valentine's Day."

"That's not a holiday," he says. "It's a scam."

"Valentine's Day isn't a scam," I say.

Blake stares at me like I'm the insane one. "You want to know what you're celebrating on Valentine's Day?"

"Love?"

"Saint Valentine being killed. Romantic, huh?"

"Maybe that's what it was about back then," I say, "but there are lots of holidays that don't mean the same as they did. It's a symbolic holiday of romance now."

"Oh yeah," Blake says, leaning back, "the 22-billion dollar chocolate industry profiting off love really screams romance."

"You just hate anything that requires an ounce of emotion," I say.

"Face it, Matthews," he says, "Valentine's Day is nothing but a money-making scheme to help the rich get richer, and the rest of us are too dumb to stop it."

"Okay," I say, "that's enough of the truth serum game."

He flashes a lopsided grin. "So there is a God."

"Do you want to plan out next week?" Before he can answer, I'm over to my bag and pulling out my campaign notes. I sit next to Blake, showing him some ideas I'd written.

"Do you carry those everywhere you go?" he asks.

"Yes. I'm thinking we set up a table of cupcakes and badges to get the word out before the ballot closes."

He shifts closer, allowing our shoulders to brush as he reads over my suggestions, but I can't ignore the knot in my stomach caused by our truth serum game. While I'm certain I can look past our differences, how long will it be before the attraction wears off and Blake realizes we have nothing in common?

"All right," Blake says when we've exhausted every option, "I'll do the rounds on Monday. You know, try to intimidate people into voting for you."

My eyes widen at the same time he grins. "Not funny," I say, glancing at the clock. It's already gone ten, which means if I stay here any later, my mom will start wondering where I am. It's better to get home before that point than come up with another lie. "I should get going."

"You should probably put on some pants first," he says.

I follow his gaze to my legs before running upstairs to slip on my jeans. After a quick glance in the mirror, I head downstairs, grab my bag, and let Blake walk me to my car.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

He's referring to the concert, and from the look on his face, he's amused I'm even going. I bite my lip, wanting to use this chance as a way to show him we do have something in common. Kind of. "Yeah, Liv let me listen to a few songs by the band. I love them."

Blake smirks. "Really."

I lightly shove his chest to stop him from making fun of me. He catches my hand, pulling me closer until our mouths almost touch. Feeling brave, I reach up slightly, standing on my tiptoes, and lightly press my mouth to his. It lasts a second, long enough for a swarm of butterflies to invade my stomach before I pull back.

He stares at me a second longer. I turn around to stop myself from kissing him and open my door as he walks back to the basement.

"Oh, what about your t-shirt?" I call after him.

"Keep it," he says, looking over his shoulder. "Looks better on you anyway."

I don't let myself smile until I'm in my car and reversing out of the driveway. The second I get home, I head to my bedroom and open my laptop to research the Evening Primrose. It's yellow in color, similar to a buttercup, and at first, I think it reminds him of me because it's bright and overbearing, but the further I read, the more I think I start to understand. There are flowers that thrive where they shouldn't, that cower from light, only to blossom in the shadows.

Evening Primrose is one of them.

❤️